


Stress Received is Stress Relieved

by TheOtherEyeIsNotResponsive



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Character Study, Happy Ending, Rung is stressed, Talking, Whirl is Drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:27:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23323930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOtherEyeIsNotResponsive/pseuds/TheOtherEyeIsNotResponsive
Summary: Under a time crunch, Rung has to finish writing an executive summary for an upcoming meeting. Unfortunately for him, a well meaning Whirl tries to get the doc to take care of himself.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	Stress Received is Stress Relieved

**Author's Note:**

> Or alternatively, 4000 words of Rung and Whirl talking, and Whirl managing to make a stressful time a little less so.

Audial filters are a brilliant modification to any H.U.D. Truly wonderful when working in a library, or lost in thought while walking down a hallway. At Swerve’s however? Truly atrocious. 

Barely functional. Every mech who drifts too close sets the poor string of coding off, causing a slew of [REQUESTING MANUAL AUDIAL FILTER] popups, and the subsequent need to swat them away _after_ being opened and read. Atrocious.

The program could certainly be turned off, but it’s already _on,_ and then the audials will be absolutely bombarded by sound without it. And oh dear this processor’s already so overtaxed from lack of recharge that it just won’t be able to handle the extra background work, and there just isn’t enough _time_ to find somewhere else to work before this coming meeting. Oh this is what you get for writing your own programs.

Another popup disrupts his reading. It only carries a singular [Hey.] But it's too loud, too drunk, too obviously not directed at him. But, way too close to his booth. Still, no one would bother talking to him let alone in his general direction. The popup gets rejected. 

He goes back to reading. 

Notes are taken. Concepts summarized. Time gleefully passes. 

_Another popup._ But clearly not enough time.

He opens it to hear a [Hey _Rung_.] 

The designation rattles around his helm and down his spinal struts. It’s close. It’s also dripping with hard liquor, and an indisputable _insistence_. The kind that demands immediate attention.

He speaks on reflex, keeping his helm down. “Yes Whirl?”

He doesn’t flinch - not in front of Whirl, not without knowing the mech’s intentions. But he shouldn’t be so quiet. So soft in the shadow of the bar’s suffocating cacophony. When did he lose his spot on the page?

But the proximity sensor is blinking for him again, and oh dear he didn’t realize Whirl had already sat down next to him. That’s just Whirl though. Sometimes he’ll just _appear,_ and you just need to deal with it. Deal with it and the possibly unintentional stress his presence brings. He’s a lovely mech, but this is not the right time. Rung clutches the datapad tighter.

Hopefully he wasn’t waiting long for Rung to notice him.

But at the same time... hopefully he’ll leave soon. There’s still so much work to be done. This ridiculous priority report needs to be summarized and the nice, neat, _long_ to-do list pinned to his HUD taunts him. 

Taunts him with all the work that remains still. Not to mention all the appointments, and meetings, and other spontaneous plans that are bound to pop-up along the way. Maybe even plans in place for training. If only that one mech could kindly reply to his email, then other pieces can be

If only it wasn’t all so overwhelming. Surely if he concentrates on one datapad at a time, he thinks, scrolling through the one in his servos (who writes 300 page reports without a jump-to index anyway?), then it’ll all be easier to manage. 

"There's only one of you." 

“Correct. Unless you count alternate universe duplicates, apparently,” he replies, marking the conversation as aimless and setting up a generous half processor devoted to Whirl, and setting it to run in the background. He scrolls faster, (politely) cursing it’s author. Of course after this particular time crunch, there will still be that endless supply of reports, saved scientific journals, treatment plans, and questions that need answering. And _emails_. There truly will never be enough time for it all. 

Oh! There it is! He thinks, slapping a manual tag for easier finding later. Sorry Whirl, but Ultra Magnus is heading this panel and he only entertains _thoroughness to the highest degree_. Now if only he was so thorough as to have read this himself instead of shifting the heavy lifting onto someone else. And he calls himself a load-bearer.

* * *

_Within each loop of the outer 3 F-CV, we applied an inner 3 F-CV to determine the optimal α and λ. Speciﬁcally, the training set for each loop of the outer 3 F-CV was further partitioned into 3 subsets according to their rank of the behavioral scores, as like the outer loop. Two subsets were selected to train the model under a given parameter set-_

* * *

Whirl’s field becomes agitated next to him. Rung’s servo jitters - swiping away from his spot. He zones back into the world of his drunken conversationalist, wanting to feel exasperated at the interruption. 

“No,” another flash of that worrisome _agitation/frustration/anger_ , “you don’t hear me.”

A nice big, entirely warranted warning flashes along Rung’s hud and a sliver of anxiety rattles along after it. He keeps his field neutral, and sets down the datapad to face Whirl and the missed, or misunderstood, misunderstanding. 

“I will repeat,” Whirl presses on before Rung can pull up the conversation log, “for you and only you. You ready? Nod if you’re ready.”

Rung nods. 

“There is only one of you.”

Rung squints up at the mech through his glasses, racking his brain for answers. Or even _an_ answer. 

Only one of you. _Yes… there is only one of me. Is there some hidden meaning being missed here? One of me, as an individual? As a professional? An alt-mode joke?_

He takes a closer look at the mech. Yes he's certainly had a bit to drink, and this has staticized his speech and set his field ablaze, but surely he wouldn’t make a joke that low. Rung must be missing something. Something important enough to bear repeating. He glances at his chronometer.

He caves. "I'm... sorry Whirl, I don't understand. Could you explain?" The sooner this problem solved, the sooner the datapad can be tended to. 

Whirl reels back, field fluttering unreadably, optic suddenly laser focused on Rung. 

He steels himself for the mech's analysis. Shocking how few have noticed Whirl's perception. Though, he does hide it well under that well maintained ex-wrecker level, aggressive semi-facade. But that’s a thought for another time. 

The mech’s helm sways towards Rung, optic fuzzing and field relaxing. Whatever he was looking for, Rung must have passed inspection.

"Hold on." He slurs, swaying back, and accenting the words with a wave of a claw. "Gotta put this into words you'll understand."

Rung rests his servos in his lap, and smiles up at the mech.

Satisfied he has Rung's full attention, his optic delves into a thin line of concentration. Rung can feel it straining against the buzz of a terribly engex laden field. 

He remembers how it felt when he could. How nice it was to be in a social setting, emotional receptors boosted and inhibitions lowered. To simply enjoy the moment without immediate repercussions. It would be nice to be able to do that aboard the Lost Light - to have that choice. Just like reading that report on the table.

Whirl’s optic cycles wide, round, yet sharp as ever. A tired mind sure wanders fast.

"You," Whirl slurs, slowly placing a claw lightly over Rung's sparkchamber, "are the only therapist aboard." Psychiatrist, but that’s ok. 

He waits for Whirl to articulate himself, becoming keenly aware of how boxed in he is between Whirl, wall, booth, and table. He knows where this conversation is going, and it unfortunately isn’t aimless. Drunk or not, Whirl is on a mission. There will be no easy escape from this.

"But, according to.. being a therapist... you can't.. you know, you can’t do stuff." 

He’s had this conversation with Ratchet before, but still feels dread swelling in his tanks. Ratchet at least carries predictability. And a level of relatability as a medic. 

”Like friends, and getting real clooose to people," he slurs, wrapping an arm around Rung and pulling him flush. Rung doesn’t draw his field away, letting Whirl feel it’s full _calm/exasperation/impatience_ . Whirl’s on the other servo feels suffocatingly _drunk_. Thank goodness the two can’t mesh like this.

Whirl scoffs, but continues on. 

"And you've never drank, once. Don't think I didn't notice that you ordered that sweetened stuff when we went off planet. Looks like enjex, maybe it even tastes like it but you ain't fooling me, _doctor_." 

“That isn’t a crime, Whirl.” Rung states, straining his neck to meet Whirl’s shrinking optic. Is he frustrated because of the report, or because Whirl hit a sore spot? Is he really that put off by the restrictions of his profession?

“Can you let me go? It’s hard to see you.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” he says detangling himself and scooting away. Now closer to the booth's edge, and much easier on the neck he continues. “Ok then. Then why, after such a long absence from Swerve’s, you’re here today with your work?” His unblinking optic is a pinpoint despite the mechanically even tone. 

“Thought I’d surround myself with good company.”

Whirl makes a show of looking around the booth. Emphasizing how obviously empty it is, how relatively secluded from the rest of the bar it also happens to be. He looks back at Rung. “Wrong.”

A number of lies float to the surface, but Whirl would see right through them. And extend the conversation. No point in elongating this.

“Part truth actually. This counts as socializing - our conversation as proof.” Quota for the day reached, now that Rung thinks about it. That, and the office has felt so _quiet_ lately. And while the company is time consuming, it _is_ appreciated. Just don't tell the report that. Or Ultra Magnus if things go astray here.

He can feel Whirl mulling this over. For any other mech this would've ended the conversation, thrown them off, or invited a welcome change in subject. Not Whirl. Whirl, for lack of a better word, is persistent. Too bad he's inebriated, or he'd be a real sharp-tongued threat.

But thoughts tend to drift when tired, and Rung's rush ragged to the twenty minutes it'll take to walk to the meeting. Thirty, if he goes slow enough to read. Are his knees feeling well enough today to make twenty? Thirty could do about fifty pages. Eighty if he hooks the datapad up to the streamliner program, though that's been running faulty lately… 

“So… you came to a bar not to drink, but to work. Knowing that someone would come over and strike up a conversation. Rung buddy I’m real doubtful but I don’t know why. Also, _lame_.” 

“That’s completely ok. Though, Whirl if you don’t mind, I have to finish reading this.” He says, motioning to the datapad. 

“So that’s what you’ve been fretting about. Usually you’re a great conversationalist but today, pfff, lacking,” the mech says, turning to look but stopping short. “So, when were you planning on drinking that.” 

Oh. The energon cube. The one unopened. The one unopened and sitting right next to the datapad. 

“I’d be lying if I said I remembered that existed.” 

“It’s untouched. It’s not even open.”

“Looks to be that way, yes.”

“Forgotten fueling? Is that there a forgotten fueling? You conveniently ‘forgetting’ to fuel again?"

“Perhaps.” 

“Doc… come on.” He lays his helm down on the table, sad optic trained on Rung. The sudden mood shift more effective than any weapon. “I don’t beat myself up as much as you and I'm the one getting mandated jail-deterrent theeerapy. Can I at least watch you drink it?”

“Of course. But afterwards I really do need to finish working on this,” he says tapping the datapad, “in quiet, and without distractions.” 

“Ughhh how long will that take?” He asks, dragging the datapad away from Rung. 

Rung tracks the motion.

“I only have 30 minutes left, so hopefully before then.”

“Ugh, go ahead, sure. Deal.”

Rung peels open the cube, and drinks. He can feel Whirl watching him intently. 

"You're so tiny you know that? How many cubes you need a day? I'm at 6."

Whirl, _please_. "Ah, just two for me," he says, lips brushing the cube. He looks down at Whirl, waits to see if there’s any other questions, observations, concerns… None? Ok, lovely, he thinks before continuing his drink. The faster he finishes this, the faster he can get back to work. 

“2! Ha! Tiny mech. But uh, ha, really funny there doc, cause like, 2 is a _real easy number to remember_.” His field sharp, optic pointed. 

He mentally slaps himself for holding the preconceived notion that a non-sober Whirl's thoughts and opinions are any less valid. Slaps himself hard.

But, point taken, he finishes the cube, tilts it so Whirl can see, and sets it down gently. Motions for Whirl to give back the datapad. 

“Munitions alerts me to keep up on the refueling. I mean I could _ignore_ them and _survive_ off of 4 and use manufactured artillery like the rest of them grunts, but these tits are high-class. Top of the line. Gotta maintain them. Just like how a certain _doc_ needs to maintain himself. 2 seems pretty low, even for a short stick like you. You sure that’s all you need?”

“You’d only be scraping by if you had four, wouldn’t you?”

“I said surviving didn’t I? Now how many do you need.”

“Two cubes meet my requirements for functioning," he immediately answers, motioning more insistently for the datapad.

“I don’t like the words you’re using there doc.”

“You don’t need to like my words for them to be true. _But,_ I do need to be reading that.” He says reaching over and tapping the datapad. Best not to anger by completely stealing it back.

Whirl’s field and frame flare out. Rung’s remain unaffected, servo undeterred. 

Whirl slides the datapad back into anxious digits. 

“Thank you, Whirl,” the doc murmurs, attention fully shifting to the glyphs igniting on the screen. 

Attention fully absorbed in the grind of work, Whirl’s witty reply is completely blocked out. 

_Well_ , Whirl thinks, rubbing his helm and checking his chronometer, _when the little guy does recharge his processor will spit out this memory and he’ll be reminded of my total nonchalance. Cause why would I care_ , the big mech continues, setting his helm down on the sticky table and setting a 10-to timer. 

°l||l°l||l°l||l°l||l°l||l°l||l°l||l°l||l°l||l°l||l°

When the timer does ding itself into a flashy reminder, Whirl is still helm bound to the table, proboscis toying with an empty shot glass. He looks slowly up at Rung. 

Rung has his own helm propped up on a servo, other digits scrolling through the document and swiping away to a different page and taking notes. Or, that’s what it looks like he’s doing. Either way, it all seems complicated. _Academic._

Probably not a good time to bug him, the mech thinks, claws clicking as his helm and neck sit up straight. 

He wraps an arm around the back of the booth, takes a look around the rest of the bar. Inattentive and totally sloshed. Perfect.

“Hey doc I’ve been thinking.”

He looks back at the mech. “Hey doc.”

“Doc.”

In a sweeping motion he brings his helm down by the datapad, tilting up with a dilated optic, “Rung.”

The mech jolts upwards and away. Limbs flailing. 

Whirl’s optic reverts to normal and curves upwards. So ‘Rung’ really is the keyword. Fun.

He sees Whirl for Whirl, and rests a servo over a visibly wildly pulsating spark casing. “Whirl!” He takes a few unsteady breaths, “my goodness!”

“So Rung I’ve been thinking-”

“As one does! Whirl, in my age,” he gives another series of calming breaths, “this fuel pump of mine-”

“HA! That’s old age for ya! But yeah yeah so like where do you even sleep?” 

Rung jerks back, opening his mouth to object. 

Whirl holds up a claw.

“Don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk, mention, or even _seen_ your habsuite.” 

He speeds up, “which would be so cool. If you’ve got those model ships displayed in your office I can’t even imagine how many you got in a personal space. Or,” he pauses, optic a suspicious slit, “do you just suddenly exist every time someone needs you.”

“Oh, imagine if I did?” Rung pauses, looking past Whirl into the crowded bar. "I’d never stop existing,” he answers himself, deadpan.

Whirl leans back into the booth again, slamming his helm back as he plays out a recorded laughter. 

He brings it back with a little _too_ much force and narrowly avoids bashing into the table. “And the question?”

Rung quirks an eyebrow. “No one’s ever asked that one before, congratulations.” He says, looking back down at the datapad to hide the grin. He knows it won’t be enough to dissuade him, but oh so fun to say. 

"Wha- what? That's all you give me? Doc no come on!" He whines, twisting his neck in an attempt to keep Rung’s expression in sight. 

In response, Rung shakes his helm to knock the growing smile off. Failing, he laughs and looks back at Whirl. “Sorry that was a fun line in poor taste.”

Whirl perks up. “A fun line?”

“Mmm” Rung acknowledges, back to deciphering the less than riveting series of tables and graphs. “Though if I do give a proper answer there will only be more questions on your part, yes?”

“But,” he pauses, mental gears churning away at the exciting new clue, “I wouldn’t really ask much if you said you have a habsuite, besides like, if I could bust in, so the most question asking answer… you…. you don’t have one don’t you,” he trails out unhappily.

The weary look Rung gives is all Whirl needs to see. 

“What do you mean you don’t have a habsuite.”

So much for that fun moment. 

As with many things, “it wasn’t my choice,” replies Rung, rubbing his temples with one servo while scrolling with another. Smile non-existent. All the tension previously drained from his frame floods back in full force. 

“So what, you’re gunna, you’re just gunna let mech walk all over you? Cause I’m guessing I dunno, you were forgotten and you weren’t assigned one is that it? Grow a strut!” Rung evolves into rubbing at his faceplates with both servos. “Where do you even sleep then?”

“Do you even need to ask?” He asks behind a protective barrier of servos.

“No… why. Wait how do you do this to yourself? How this even a thing you can do?" He pauses, taking Rung in and confirming to himself the truth behind the next statement. "You, the most precious, tiniest, kindest mech alive?”

"I'm sure I'm neither of those." Despite legitimacy concerns, the compliment is filed away with the almost dozen others from the last millennia. 

“Dunno, you sure are tiny." He gives another pause, this time for effect. "How you feel about fighting Rewind for the title?" 

Rung pops out behind his shield and gives a bewildered look.

"C'mon it'd be funny! I'm sure there'd be good money in it. Be warned, I'd totally bet on Rewind."

"Excuse me! I'll have you know-" 

A calendar notification pops up. He needs to leave very soon for that meeting. 

There’s only five pages left to go. Three of which seem to be the conclusion. The debriefing packaging can definitely be finished while walking over. Graphics built, key concept summarized, notes and more. Unfortunately no color coding, but if Ultra Magnus wanted that, then he should’ve done it himself. 

He makes a face. They will get what is given, and they will appreciate it. 

“I need to go Whirl, I’m due elsewhere.”

"No it's only been-" he sees the time, "-oh shit. You good on the, the…” He waves a claw, then waves it more insistently, optic furrowing. He stops. “You good on the stuff you were doing?"

"Mm close enough. I'll be able to do finishing touches on the way over. It should be all good, and if it isn't then,” he shrugs, “well, they should've read the report themselves, instead of having me do it for them." 

"Oh nice, ok." 

Whirl keeps looking at Rung.

"Whirl I need you to move so I can leave."

"Oh!" He looks around and seems to realize how boxed in Rung is. "Right yeah no prob." 

He's shuffled half way out of the booth before stopping and swinging a helm back to look at Rung. His field floods forward with _desperate/panic-_ and snaps away again.

"No wait, actually hold on.” He shys away, then wrenches his gaze back in regret.

"You’re not - ok listen I’m…" he drums his claws on the table, trying to find the right words under the time crunch, "trying to do the right words, but the helm’s all fuzzy doesn’t help," he scratches the spot, "but uh, doesn’t seem like you’re picking up what I was dishing out so” he fades out, looking away, claws falling still. 

"Don’t tell anyone this,” he whips his helm around to see if any mechs are listening in. 

Satisfied, he looks back at Rung. 

The little mech can feel the unbridled intensity. Braces himself.

“I’m worried about you." 

A soft, _oh,_ escapes Rung.

"That little frame of yours-"

Rung removes his glasses, overcome by the need to bury himself in cleaning them.

"-that, spark… your darn fuel pump. You’re gunna burn yourself out. You can’t wiggle out of that you know. It will come for you.” 

Whirl lets out a deep sigh, field unfurling. "Please, take care of yourself.” 

Rung pauses in his cleaning. 

Whirl frets. Rubs at some chipping paint on a claw.

"Whirl?" 

Whirl looks back down at Rung. The little mech's optics, laid so bare. So bright with feeling. Of understanding. 

"I’m,” he chokes out, “I’m doing my best. It’s,” he looks away, ignoring an insistent secondary calendar alarm, “everything about my situation is less than ideal,” he looks back up at Whirl, “but I have plans in the works for improvement! And, your concern means a lot to me,” Whirl shakes his helm, “it really does.”

“I know,” he shakes his helm more vigorously, “that you need to go. But can I kidnap you? Bring you to the observatory and you can take a nap? They got those big pillow pit things that would be perfect for you know, you laying in and recharging in. I'll catch up on some reading and make sure no one bothers you, and hey that's actually turning into a pretty solid idea-”

Rung laughs, enjoying the idea for what it is. An idea, a suggestion. 

“I’m sorry, but I can’t.” Not that he’d have much say if Whirl _did_ decide for it to become a reality. Though, the prospect of cuddling up in a pile of pillows under the stars _is_ very charming. 

“Eh, ok. Wait wait. Wasn’t this your recharge block?”

Rung stiffens, straightens up, puts his glasses back on. “I’m.. I’m condensing recharge to the end of the week.” He quickly adds this to his calendar. “We can pick this up later if you like? But for now I need to leave you here.”

His soft smile gives Whirl hope. 

“Understood. Take care of yourself.”

“I will Whirl.”

“Don’t forget the recharge cable when you do go.”

“I know Whirl.”

“Drink your rations.”

Rung gives him a look. “Whirl, with these old joints I’d rather not crawl over the table to get out of here.”

“Just saying, if you don’t do these super basic bare metal things I’m gunna tell Ratchet. I will, _‘mention’_ that I heard it through the vents. Or something. He’d believe that.”

That he would. He would also march right up and personally deliver a forced leave order, to be implemented effective immediately. Then, for good measure, give an _extremely_ detailed presentation titled ‘Personal Maintenance and You: Avoiding Spark Burnout (by not being an aft).’ 

Rung shrugs the thought off. Picks up the datapad and stands up in the booth. “Feel free to send me any other concerns you have.” 

He crawls up onto the table, and stands again with a chorus of creaking joints.

Whirl watches him in shock. “What you doing there doc?”

Said doc walks a few steps along the table, and turns to face the bigger mech with a smile, "oh you know, I ordered in that strut you suggested. Much faster than growing one you know.”

Whirl stares, amazed. He offers the wobbling mech a claw. “You are incredible, you know that?” 

Rung accepts, and steps down from table to booth, from booth to floor. Triumphant, the smile broadens. “Mm, a reminder is always appreciated. Have a good evening Whirl.”

“Wait Rung?”

“Yes, Whirl?”

“I’m gunna think of something you haven’t. That situation of yours? Like you say tons of times before, that'll get better.”

Rung considers Whirl for a moment, smile positively beaming. 

“I look forward to it.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Some final notes:  
>  \- I usually write at work, and since the last fic posted I've started two new positions within the company that have had some pretty darn steep learning curves. Now that I'm comfortable enough to be on my phone at work, I am once again marking up the page. Hopefully more fic to follow?  
>  \- I like to think that Whirl would be someone who'd push ridiculousness in order to shift focus away from the negative. 
> 
> Let me know if you liked it? (an emoji is a super rad and valid comment too 😉 )


End file.
